


Fantasy Armor

by HardPass



Series: Carried Away [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bad Fashion Choices, Dumbass Inquisitor, F/M, M/M, Sassy Inquisitor, Sexual Tension, character impalement, dumb fantasy armor, grumpy Varric, oh god more puns, puns, return of Hank, shipping everyone, slutty armor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 12:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10217564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardPass/pseuds/HardPass
Summary: The Inquisitor has always felt like magic is easier to do when naked, so she commissions some skimpy armor to help her achieve something close. Not everyone thinks it's a great idea, but some lessons need to be learned the hard way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's curious as to why Carrie hauls around a staff named Hank making terrible body puns, he appears in chapter three of [The Haven Attack](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9803057/chapters/22013339)
> 
> If tl;dr, just know that she was super hungover and it seemed funny at the time.

The armor was immaculate, if it could be called armor. Technically, it was. It would repel everything from magic to claws to swords, even if it didn’t look like it. It was so skimpy, a back alley Orlesian whore wouldn’t be caught dead in it, but a even a dragon shouldn’t be able to tear it up. 

“It’s perfect,” Caroline breathed as she touched the white pants and the red braided armbands. 

“It’s...well...it’s the best I could do.” Dagna rocked back on her heels, her hands on her hips. “But the enchantment should cover the bits that look uncovered, even if the armor itself doesn’t, so you should be fine if you get into a scrap. At least, I think.” 

She began unbuttoning her jacket and vest. “Then we better test it out. Go grab an axe or something to hit me with, would you?”

“Um...let’s start with something less dangerous and work our way up. I don’t want to have to explain to Leliana and Cullen how I accidentally killed the Inquisitor,” she twittered.

Nobody else occupied the undercroft, not that it would have stopped Caroline from stripping down to the skin in order to shinny into the new armor. It came with trousers, sadly, but they couldn’t figure out how to get the enchantment to extend between bare thigh and ankle, but her belly, arms, back, and shoulders were all exposed except for some braided pieces winding her chest and limbs. They sealed in parts of the magic that would keep her alive. A bit of fabric covered her breasts for modesty’s sake and that was it. 

“This already feels so much better than those stupid enchanter robes and armor I’ve been wearing.” 

Caroline had asked Dagna to help her fashion this armor for one reason. Put simply, she cast spells better in the buff. Some called it a quirk of her character. Fabric and metal always felt so distracting, confining. She simply focused better without clothes on. Her spells came together neater. She drew more power. 

The “armor” the archanist designed for her was the best compromise they could come up with. She couldn’t go into battle starkers, but she could eliminate much of the weight and brush of fabric that caused the most distractions. 

“You are the real hero here, if this works. If I can go into battle without hauling around metal on my shoulders, it’s going to be a game changer. It’s revolutionary.” 

“What if your boobs pop out during battle? That’s really the biggest problem I wasn’t able to solve.” 

“Then my enemies can die with visions of bliss.” 

“Fair point. Are you ready?” She had taken up a rod of wood that one day might become a mage’s staff. 

Squaring herself up, feet braced, arms at her sides, she exhaled slowly and shook out the tension in her shoulders. “Yes. Ready. And don’t hold back. I need to know if this works or not. If it doesn’t, all you’ll do is bruise me. And make me lose five silver to Dorian.” 

“If this hurts, I’m sorry in advance.” 

“Yeah, me too.”

Dagna pulled the rod back and let her have it, slamming it hard into her bare abdomen. The force of the blow knocked her back a few steps, throwing her against an anvil, but the blow didn’t sting nearly as much as it should have. The dwarf fell into a fit of apologies, thinking she’d hurt her until Caroline waved her off between giggles.

“No, I’m fine. I’m good, actually. Look, you didn’t even leave a mark! I just lost my balance. See?”

They both stared critically at her belly, waiting for a red welt to rise. When it became clear that she was fine, they matched grins. 

“Something bigger, then,” Caroline insisted. 

Scampering over to a weapon’s rack, Dagna selected a heavy war hammer. Again, Caroline braced herself, squinting her eyes shut as her friend reared back and whacked her. The hammer threw her off her feet again. The force of the blow hurt, but not as much as it might have. The air squeezed out of her lungs for about a minute, but she recovered quickly.

“Are you okay?” 

“I felt it more than the other, but no more than if I was in real armor. I call this a smashing success! Do it again, just for good measure.” 

Giggling, she braced herself again and let Dagna wallop her soundly. She couldn’t wait to see her opponents faces when they thought they struck a killing blow, only to have it deflect off of her skin. They were going to shit their pants. The hammer knocked her off her feet again, but at worst she would be a little bruised. She rubbed her middle, expecting to feel something between her hand and belly, but her hand slipped through the enchantment like air, brushing over soft skin.

“Hey, Dagna, try punching me.” 

“I don’t want to hurt my hand…” 

“Don’t put everything behind it. Just enough that I know the armor would work in a bar brawl.”

Shrugging, Dagna socked her in the stomach before she had the chance to brace herself. The enchantment caught the force of the punch, keeping it from doing any real damage. Dagna, on the other hand, howled with pain, clutching her fist to her chest and hopping around the undercroft with watering eyes. 

“Shit! Sorry! Sorry! Are you okay?” 

“I think I popped a knuckle.” 

Scrambling over to the potions table, Caroline slapped together a draught from elfroot extract. She had to chase down Dagna as she continued to bounce and swear around the room, finally catching her and pressing the cup into her hands with stern instructions to drink the whole thing. Sensing that their fun was at an end, she cut her losses and slipped out while the dwarf recovered. She had wanted to talk to her about finding better upgrades for her staff, Hank, but it could wait until after she forgave her the knuckle. 

Instead, she pulled gear together and summoned Dorian, Varric, and Iron Bull to join her on a quick jaunt to the Hinterlands to find something more sinister than Dagna to give her armor a field test. She had mostly cleared the region, but a few dens of bandits remained, as well as the occasional, remote rift. It would make for an easy experiment before she faced down a dragon or horde of Venatori or Red Templars. 

“You look ridiculous. I can't decide if I love it or hate it,” Dorian drawled as he met her in the yard near the gate. 

Varric also walked up with incredulous eyebrows. “ _ That _ is supposed to keep you alive? What if somebody stabs you in the middle?” 

“Give me a punch, then.” 

He squinted. “And have Cassandra jump down my throat for breaking the Inquisitor? No thank you.” 

She waggled suggestive eyebrows. “Are you sure? Seems to me you could use an excuse for her to jump down your throat. Or your pants. Whichever she reaches first. You could--” 

He shut her up by hammering his fist into her belly. Caroline staggered backward, but managed to keep her feet. Varric didn't fare so well. He doubled over around his fist, cussing with each breath. He groped for an elfroot potion with his good hand, eyes watering. He turned his curses against her, and more specifically, her mother, calling them both all manner of unsightly things. 

“Are you convinced?” she drawled. 

“Fuck you!” 

Last to arrive, Iron Bull approached with open arms. “Hey, Boss, this is a good look for you! I like it!” 

She spun for him, striking a pose. 

He leered good naturedly. “Are you certain you don't want to ride the Bull? Offer's still on the table.” 

She didn't miss Dorian's little huff at that, shooting him a sly wink before addressing the Qunari. “I love you, darling, but I like being able to walk in a straight line.” 

“I'd go easy on you.” 

“And what fun would that be? You've got plenty of admires. You hardly need me.” Another pointed look to Dorian, who feigned ignorance, attention wandering the yard.

By then, Varric had partially recovered. “I'm going to have to shoot left handed for the rest of the day.” 

“Among other things.” She made a lewd gesture with her fist. 

He flipped her off. 

“All right. Shall we be off then? Break this armor in properly?” 

She hardly got their approval when she heard her name barked sharply from the battlements. She squinted up at them, stomach sinking as she saw Cullen begin a rapid descent to catch her. She had hoped he would stay sequestered in his office until she got the armor tested, so when she went to tease him with it, he couldn't insist it was a poor choice. The surprise was ruined. She would have to improvise to throw him off his guard. 

“How do I look?” she asked the others, brushing a hand over her curls, which she had braided back for this adventure. 

“Slutty,” Varric supplied grumpily, flexing his aching hand. 

Dorian elbowed him. “He means, 'ravishing.’” 

“Fuckable, but you always do,” Iron Bull winked. Or perhaps it was only a blink. Hard to tell with his missing eye. 

Cullen rounded the end of the ramparts stairway, his feathered ruff seeming extra fluffy, like a threatened cat puffing up. His expression couldn't settle, flicking back and forth between horror and desire. “What are you wearing? You can't go into battle like that!”

She twirled again. “Do you like it? Dagna helped me with it.”

“There's nothing there! What if you get stabbed?”

“It's enchanted. It's fine. Dagna and I tested it.”

“It's not fine. Enchantments fail. Why do you even need it? What's wrong with the other armor you've been wearing? Armor that will actually stop you from being chopped in half on the off chance you're wrong about its magic.” 

Varric leaned in toward him. “I'll give you twenty quid right now if you punch her in the stomach to prove your point, Curly.” 

Cullen waved him off. 

Arms folded, she cocked a defiant look at the Commander. “I happen to work magic better in the nude. This was as close as I could get.” 

“Absolutely not. You are too valuable to risk getting into fights half-dressed.” 

“Are you going to forbid it?” 

The men turned toward him with bright eyes, as if hoping he was stupid enough to fall into that particular trap. Sensing danger, Cullen scuffed a hand over the back of his neck and wisely skirted the question. Pity. She would have liked to remind him who the Inquisitor was here. 

“This is foolish,” he pressed. “That is not proper armor. You are going to get killed.”

“But she'll die looking like  _ that.”  _ Bull made a noise of savage appreciation. 

“I don't care how she looks.” 

“Really!” she fumed. 

“Oh, you did not say that out loud,” Dorian groaned. 

Cullen stood firm. “I would rather you go into battle wearing the ugliest set of armor in Skyhold than none at all. I need you to come back safely.” 

“ _ You _ do?” Dorian crooned. 

“We. The Inquisition,” he corrected icily. 

Planting her fists her hips, she stared him down, inwardly thrilled at the slip. Most days, she wasn't sure if Cullen even liked her, despite her outrageous flirting. It was nice to have a reminder that he might secretly find her charming. For now, though, her armor was at stake. Flirtations would wait. 

“I'm leaving now. You can't stop me.” 

“You're right. I can't.” His jaw muscles ticked in front of his grinding teeth, then the tension bled from his posture as he again rubbed the back of his neck. “Just please, be careful.” 

Caroline wasn't much good for conjuring logical thought when he softened his expression like that. Any time he aimed those wounded eyes her direction, when she could see a glimmer of the emotion he kept buried deep, her panties took it upon themselves to hit the floor. It gave her pause, forced her to reconsider things from his point of view. 

Thankfully, she recovered before she could fall victim to the ploy.

“Nope! You're still wrong. Good day!” she sang, motioning for her party to head for the gate.

“Don't even think about coming back injured!” Cullen shouted after her. 

They waited until they were out of earshot before launching into an analysis of the encounter, spearheaded by Dorian. “Well, I'd say you had him in a perfect fluster! It's so convenient the way he blushes to let us know exactly what he thinks.” 

“I just wish he'd tried to punch you to make a point.” Varric shook out his swollen hand. 

“I just don't get why he doesn't just invite you to have sex with him. He wants to. Clearly he wants to,” Iron Bull said. “You humans tie knots around yourselves and each other dancing around the idea of fucking. And not the good kind of knots.” 

“I don't know. Perhaps  _ Dorian _ can enlighten us about the matter,” she hinted heavily.

Her entire team existed in a state of sexual frustration, it seemed. She couldn't fathom what Dorian held out for when he and Iron Bull spent half their time casting longing looks toward each other and “dancing around the idea” so to speak. 

“Yeah, actually,” the Qunari agreed. “What's that about, Dorian?”

Feigning ignorance to their true meaning, he stayed on topic. “Our tight-assed Commander is an ex-Templar, and therefore in the bad habit of resisting temptation. Who can deny that Caroline represents the ultimate temptation? Especially wearing that.” 

She nodded and shrugged. “That sounds about right. Looks like none of us are getting any for a while.” 

“What about you, Varric? Why aren’t you getting laid?” Bull asked pointedly. 

He patted Bianca. “I have a crossbow named after the girlfriend I can’t have.” 

He had finally opened up a little more since the whole Bianca debacle in the deep roads. Caroline wasn't entirely impressed with his muse, but love and desire were fickle beasts. “You could have a  _ different _ girlfriend,” she pressed. “If you’d get over yourself. We all know, deep down, you’re just pining away--”

“I swear to the Maker if you say anything about braids,” he growled. 

“Just one braid. Small.” 

“If I didn’t already break my hand punching you, I’d do it again.” 

“Maybe it’s time to hang up fondling your crossbow for something real, Varric, dear.” 

“Someday, I’d like to visit you in your reality, Carrie. I wonder what it’s like there.” 

“Rainbows!” she cried earnestly. “There’s lots of rainbows. And unicorns. Not, like, ugly bog unicorns. Snowy white steeds with pearly horns growing out of their faces that you can’t help but feel are vaguely phallic because, let’s face it, they are. And everyone sings and dances and is in love.” 

“That wasn’t a literal question! Also, you’re insane.” 

“Hasn’t that always been the case?” Dorian drawled as she dissolved into a fit of cackles. 

The Iron Bull didn’t weigh in, instead muttering to himself in sudden realization about unicorn horns and phalluses. 

“All right, all right, all right,” Caroline cut in when she finally got herself back under control. “Enough about our failed romantic lives. We have shit to go kill and armor to test out. To business, now, while I’m still in a good mood.” 

That didn’t stop them from bullshitting each other the entire way down the mountain, but that was their custom, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

 

______

  
  


Ever since Caroline pulled the skull on a stick out of a rubble pile after triggering an avalanche on herself and naming the skull Hank, she had tirelessly plagued her blacksmith and arcanist into turning him into a real weapon. Hank was...well...a work in progress. They managed to fix him to a new staff made of hickory and use the bone as medium to channel and focus magic. Dagna complained that crystal and other materials worked better, but Caroline refused. Hank would carry her through battle. They managed to amplify his meager abilities with runes, and even then, sometimes the hickory did more damage as a bludgeon. She sincerely hoped traipsing into battle practically naked gave her the edge she needed until she could figure out a way to make Hank even better. She loved that goddamn staff. She even painted red dots under his left eye to match her tattoo and marked kills in tiny X’s across his cranium. 

Her forces had done a quality job of gutting the Hinterlands of evil-doers and rapscallions, but a handful of bandit camps remained, either too overconfident or too stupid to relocate somewhere outside of the Inquisition’s sphere of influence. Normally her patrols picked them up and gave them a sound thrashing, but today the Inquisitor herself was in house. The poor, misguided little dears didn't deserve it, but she had armor that needed testing. For Hank's sake. 

She and her team sat just behind a bluff overlooking a camp of scavengers. Reports indicated they had been under  Inquisition’s scrutiny for a while, but had only recently turned to violence. They were responsible for the burning and looting of one of the meager villages to rebuild since she put a stop to the mage and Templar war. Six civilians had died, including two children. When Inquisition forces tried to pick them up for judgement, they attacked. Three of letters had to be sent to grieving families explaining why their loved ones would not be returning from service. When she got her way, three more letters would be sent, assuring the families that the deaths had been avenged. 

All in all, a good day's work, justice served, and armor given a trial run. 

She gripped Hank tightly and turned her head toward her companions. “Ready to  _ break some bones _ ?” she quipped.

She was met with groans. 

“Have I ever mentioned how much I hate that staff and your puns,” Varric sighed. 

The Iron Bull gave him a shove. “Hey, I kind of like the puns.” 

“I admit, they can be a bit of a headache.” Dorian seemed to regret his words as soon as he said them, swearing vividly under his breath as Caroline clapped in delight and the others turned on him savagely. “I didn't mean it! It was not supposed to be a pun!” he cried, muting his voice just enough not to call attention to them. 

“No need to  _ behead _ him for it,” she sniggered at the other two. 

“Can we do this already?” Varric grumbled. 

“Yes, time to get some  _ skin _ in the game!” She grinned wickedly, bracing Hank in front of her. “For the Inquisition!” 

They charged over the hill into the camp. Caroline usually hung back to kill from a distance, but that was not what this fight was about. She waded into the fray, lightning raining down to add confusion and mayhem. She whipped Hank around in a complicated dance of magic and defense. Her first opponent that got around her staff to glance a flail off her side. It bounced off bare skin. The spikes kind of tickled. 

“You okay, Boss?” 

“Bad to the  _ bone _ , Bull!”

“The armor, I mean.” 

Caroline couldn't stop herself once she got going. Wielding Hank made her incapable of speaking in anything other than puns. “The  _ body _ of proof appears to be building.”

She took another whack to her flank from the flail. She called down a storm of lightning that arced between several of the bandits. It was a shame they were all about to die. Lightning made for wicked scars. 

A battle cry alerted her to an enemy charging in on her left. An immense, behemoth of an enemy. Not quite Iron Bull sized, but close, wielding a broadsword almost taller than she stood. The sword in question cleaved through the air at her, barely blocked by Hank's shaft. The force of the blow knocked her backward on her ass, skidding across rocks and grass that her armor buffed for her. She came away without raw patches up her butt, so she called it a win. 

Unwilling to go down silently, she scrambled to her feet with a jeer. “You got a  _ bone _ to pick with me, asshole?” 

He didn't rise to the occasion. One day, she sincerely hoped someone devolved into a pun war with her mid-battle. Today, she had to try to dodge another heaving strike from that sword. 

The man's own armor deflected elemental damage at an alarming rate. Usually, her lightning at least clacked some jaws together, but the brute didn't even flinch. She regretted not focusing enough on her battle mage studies. A huge, magical sword might have been handy just about then. 

Whatever edge or focus her light armor gave her wasn't enough to boost Hank's power to bust through his defenses. At least without the weight of real armor she had the means to scramble out of range. She had a few fire spells at her disposal to also try. Fire wasn't really her thing, but they came in handy for lighting campfires and candles. 

Fire deflected off of him as much as lightning did. 

“Uh...Bull! I'm about  _ boned _ !” she called nervously as she darted out of range of another heavy slash.

Dorian’s own rain of ice did as much good at her lightning, although a few bolts from Bianca at least gave him pause. The Iron Bull charged in with heavy swings of his own battle axe to chip into his armor with the force of a battering ram. She fell back, exhaling in relief. As much as she wanted her armor tested, she resolved to work her way up to gigantic, five foot broadswords. 

Before she could fully conclude that her situation might be skewed as a metaphor for her love life, she turned and caught a gauntlet across the face. Her unarmored face. Another bandit, abandoned mid-fight when Bull jumped in to defend her, leapt forward to catch her by surprise. 

Caroline spat blood and a swear, but didn't complete the imaginative phrase about the man's mother and a herd of nugs before he took his sword and rammed it into her belly. 

All the way through her belly. 

She staggered back, looking down at her bare middle as steel protruded through her adjacent to her navel, blood seeping down into the hem of her white trousers. 

White was a poor choice. 

“Oh fuck.”

The bandit stared at her like he couldn't believe it. Caroline didn't blame him.  _ She _ didn't believe it. 

Somewhere very far away, somebody called her name.

“You stabbed me!” she accused in disbelief. 

The bandit staggered backward, mouth agape.

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” she repeated with more emphasis, staring down at the sword impaled through her middle. 

Belatedly, pain ripped through her, dropping her to her knees. The impact jarred the sword, sending a fresh sensation of hell through her body. Hank clattered to the side as her fingers lost their ability to grip. She tried to think clearly. Should she pull the sword out? Leave it? 

At some point, it occurred to her that there was quite a lot of yelling going on around her head. Beyond the legs of her companions, she saw a field awash in carnage. Blood dropped off of embrium petals like dew, bodies nestled between their stocks, skirted by bees, but attracting a following of flies. A mountainous man lay among the gore, entire chunks missing from his heap. It appeared Bull had bested him after all. It only served him right. 

“I thought she said you tested this armor!”

“She took the flail without even flinching!” 

“I punched her and it nearly broke my hand!” 

“What do we do? Do we pull it out?”

She giggled, then hissed as hot spears of pain awoke agony in every cell of her body. “You always ought to pull out. Did your mother not teach you anything?” 

Caroline's quip earned no laughs from her audience. 

“Anybody got any potions? We need to start dosing her. Dorian, now would be a real fucking good time to have a healing spell up your sleeve.” 

“I might be able to stabilize her a little, but I'm no healer.”

“Let's take the sword out.” 

“Aha!” she cried. “We didn't test it against punctures.” 

Her companions turned toward her, expressions aghast and terrified across the board. 

“What was that, Boss?” the Iron Bull hedged. 

“Dagna and I tested only against bludgeons. We didn't test punctures. Nobody tried stabbing me. How careless of us.”

“She's in shock. Carrie, I need you to drink this. The whole thing, okay? Dorian, do whatever spell you have at your disposal. Keep her organs working. Bull, you pin her down while I remove the sword, then we compress the shit out of it and haul ass back to Skyhold to get her to a real healer.”

Caroline, who had been dutifully chugging the potion Varric handed to her, sprayed it out. “No! Not Skyhold.” 

“Drink!” he barked, shoving a new flask into her hands. 

She looked down at the sword in her middle and then up to him pleadingly. “You can't do that to me. It's cruel.” 

“There are healers at Skyhold who can fix this. We can't. We're not equipped. Drink,” he urged, gentler this time. 

She shoved the flask away from her mouth. “No, Varric! I can't go back to Skyhold. I can't let Cullen see me like this. I will not allow him to be right! Take me to Redcliffe.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not! Redcliffe is a three day walk from here. Now drink the goddamn healing potion!” he bellowed. 

Scowling, she jabbed a finger at him. “I am your Inquisitor and you will do as I say.” 

Dorian cut in before Varric lost it entirely. “Carrie, love, do as the angry little man says. As a favor to me.” 

“But he'll be so smug,” she whined. Her body had begun to sweat and shake, agony curling her over around the sword. “I've never let him win an argument before.” 

“All right. We'll take you to Redcliffe,” he said, elbowing Varric when he opened his mouth to protest. “Just as soon as you drink up and we get this sword out. You're absolutely right, being such a clever, indomitable Inquisitor and all.” He patted her head.

Satisfied, she downed the potion in a few swallows. Dorian also had her chug from his flask. The whiskey took away some of the clawing hell ripping through her side. 

“Promise me,” she gasped out as the Iron Bull grasped her firmly to his chest and Varric gripped the hilt of the sword. “Promise you won't let Cullen see he was right.” 

Dorian smoothed her hair back as he enchanted her with what meager healing spell he knew. “Would I lie to you, love?” 

Caroline was in no position to recognize his bullshit, so she acquiesced with a little nod. She trusted Dorian to the core. 

“I am so sorry,” Varric muttered, and then extracted the sword. 

“Maker mother fucking son of pig shitting assfire!” she screeched, took a breath, and continued. “Andraste’s fucking fuckhole!” 

Her world grayed, eyes blurring over as frothing blood and saliva spewed from her lips with the torrent of cussing. Bull contained her while Varric pressed pads of linen against the entrance and exit of the gash running her through and then wrapped it tightly. Between him and Dorian, they flopped her weak body into the Iron Bull's back and lashed her in place for the journey.

They left the scene of carnage behind them. The birds and wild dogs could have the corpses. 

The pain didn't really fade, but she managed to keep a fingerhold on consciousness. “Did somebody grab Hank?” 

“Yes, love, I grabbed your banal little staff.” 

Her eyes refused to focus at the same time, but she fixed her bleary glare in Dorian's direction. “Hank is not banal.” 

“Your puns are,” Varric suggested. 

“Oh...oh shut your...your gob.” She tried to come up with a better insult, but her mind felt like it was wading through sand to reach every thought. If, that was, that the sand was also on fire. 

She wavered out of consciousness after that, awoken only to drink another drought of extracted elfroot. 

“Hey, hey Bull,” she whispered during the interim that she was awake and they resumed hurrying toward civilization and help. 

“Yeah, Boss? You need something?” 

She snuggled her face against the back of his neck. It was sweaty, probably from sprinting over miles of wilderness with a woman strapped to his back, but she was in no position to complain. 

“I'm finally riding the Bull. Heh. Get it?” 

His tone was gentle. “Yeah, Boss. I get it.” 

“I hope Dorian gives you a chance. You're adorable.” 

“How much blood has she lost?” Dorian fretted from somewhere nearby. 

The Iron Bull chuckled. “Don't you worry about me, Carrie. You just focus on staying alive. Who else would badger us crazy kids into following our hearts?”

“Or following more impulsive organs,” she replied thoughtfully. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Those impulsive organs sometimes need some guidance.” 

She snerked, patting his big shoulder. 

“Less innuendo, more hiking!” Varric barked from up ahead. 

“Will we reach Redcliffe soon?” 

Nobody bothered answering her, which was fine, since she was pretty sure she passed out after that anyway. 

____

 

Caroline came to with visions of Skyhold slowly focusing in front of her. “For the record, I hate all of you,” she groaned. 

“Oh, shit, I thought you were about dead!” Varric cried, jumping. 

“Fuck you. And fuck you, Dorian. You promised.” 

“I know, but we really needed to shut you up.” 

Sweat ran into her eyes and she could barely hold her head up, but she would be damned if she gave them the satisfaction of dying. Fresh agony tore through her with each breath, a little fear worming its way into her head that they were numbered. Pain was a good sign. Pain meant she was still alive. When she survived and got back on her feet, she could kick her companions’ asses for not taking her to Redcliffe. 

A shout went up as soon as they were through the gate. It appeared the entire bloody keep would be present to witness her shame. She tried to curl her lip, but Dorian began unstrapping her from the Bull as a gathering of witnesses stared on in abject horror. She couldn’t ever recall being more embarrassed. Their Inquisitor was supposed to be untouchable. 

Healers flocked, closing in around her and taking her pulse and temperature as she lay on the ground, shriveling from the pain. 

“How long ago did this happen?” 

Varric took charge giving the account. “It’s been about ten hours. She’s been in and out of consciousness. The sword went clean through. We put pressure on and wrapped it and Dorian’s been doing what he can with a healing spell. It’s the best we could do.” 

“It looks like infection has set into her blood. We need to move her indoors. Somebody fetch a litter.” 

“I can walk it,” she groused. Her attempt to stand failed before it began. Moving her arms and legs sent her into a fit of wailing. 

A loud voice raised above the din. “Maker! What happened?”

“Oh no.” She tried to lift her head, but somebody sternly pushed her back down. 

“Stay put, Inquisitor. The litter is on its way.” 

Somewhere nearby, Varric said, “Well, Curly, it’s like this. You were right on all accounts.” 

“He was not! It worked fine against bludgeons!” 

She pouted as Cullen crouched down at her side, out of the way of the healers as they prepared to move her. Her vision wouldn’t quite focus, so he was nothing but a big, blond blur. She couldn’t decide whether it was better or not that she couldn’t make out his expression. 

“Oh, don’t gloat. I couldn’t stand it. No, wait, you earned it. Gloat away. I won’t feel right until you do. You must feel exceptionally vindicated. One little poke with a blade and it all just fell apart.” 

“Carrie, I don’t want to gloat. I didn’t  _ want _ to be right.” 

“We’re ready to move her, Commander,” one of the healers demurred. 

“Good. See to it that she’s taken care of.” 

“Don’t be nice to me!” she shrilled, sucking in a sharp breath when she was suddenly lifted and settled onto the litter. Pain whited out her vision, leaving her twitching and immobile. When she got her faculties back, she twisted a look around. “Is he still around? I’m not done yelling at him.”

“Don’t you worry about him, Inquisitor. Relax. You need your strength.” 

“Like hell I do! Cullen! We’re not done! Get back here!” 

The blond blur reappeared next to her. “All right, Caroline. You win. I  _ told _ you so. Now never wear that armor again.”

“Or what?” 

“Or you will get stabbed again! Maker, I get that you need to learn lessons the hard way, but do you really need to learn this one twice?” 

She almost told him yes, just for the sake of being contrary, but one of the litter carriers jostled her a bit on a misstep. For a moment, she thought she was going to die. Then she remembered she was dying. A sword through the belly would do that to a person. 

“All right, fine. You win again,” she hissed through gritted teeth. 

“Good. Now where is Hank?” 

Her eyes flew open. “Hank? What about him? What do you need him for?” 

“Dagna ratted you out. She said you haven’t found a way to make him-- _ it _ \--into a better staff, and that she thinks you’re coming up with ways to compensate. If I asked Dorian or Bull or Varric, do you suppose they would tell me the same thing?” 

“Not if they valued their balls, they wouldn’t,” she snarled, clawing at the side of the litter to roll toward him. “Don’t you dare take my staff. I’ll...I’ll steal that stupid feather thing on your shoulders and burn it.” 

His voice sterned up. “I’m not going to take it and never give it back. I’m going to take it and find a way to make it better so you don’t do something stupid like this ever again.” 

“Oh.” She quit fighting the healers desperately keeping her from rolling off the litter. “You don’t know anything about staffs.” 

“I’ll figure it out,” he grumped. 

“You would do that for me?” 

“Clearly.” 

Also nearby, although she couldn’t pinpoint the source, Varric let out a noise of despair. “No, Curly! You can’t do it! Just let that damn thing disappear forever.” 

“I’ll never forgive you Varric!” 

They toted her indoors, although she was too wildly disoriented to tell if they brought her into the surgeon’s infirmary or the main keep. Everything was black around the edges. She hoped she wasn’t about to pass out again. 

“That staff is a menace!” he barked. 

“I  _ love _ Hank!” 

“Your puns are the worst!” 

“I’ll take care of Hank,” Cullen sighed grievously. “You focus on getting better, Carrie.” Although she couldn’t say for certain, she was sure he left then. 

Caroline reached out wildly until her fingers snagged fabric. The healer she caught let out a yelp as she dragged him close with surprising strength. “If they try to get rid of my staff, I will paint the walls of this room with their blood.” 

“W...what?” 

“Go make sure they don’t discard it.” 

“Um…” 

“I’m your Inquisitor! I’m--”

Her vision darkened in the rest of the way. 

“I’m…” 

Her fingers slackened. 

“....shit...” 

____

 

Caroline woke up two days later with an aching side, throbbing head, and straining bladder. She rose like the dead, sitting up with surprising ease considering she had been impaled not so long ago. The wound hurt like Corypheus’s anus after shitting red lyrium crystals, but a quick check showed her an ugly, red scar that was apparently healing along nicely with the aid of Skyhold’s mages. 

They at least put her in her own room, and were apparently confident enough that she was going to survive that they left her without an attendant. Swinging her legs out of bed, she attempted to stand, and promptly fell on her face. With walking beyond her capabilities, she crawled to the chamber pot in the corner to decompress her poor bladder. 

She glanced back toward the bed as she released the pressure in her body, shoving a mass of curls out of her face. Staring back at her, propped against one of the posts, Hank grinned at her. Somebody had wrapped a ribbon around his head and tied it in a bow. 

A gift. 

Next to it, she realized for the first time, was an entirely new set of armor. 

Caroline grinned as she crawled back to bed. It was a pity she wouldn’t charge into battle naked, but maybe Cullen was right and she didn’t need to learn that lesson the hard way twice. 


End file.
